


Our Memories

by DuPhilycheesesteak



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Liam and Louis are mentioned briefly, M/M, Not Beta'd, Prompt Fill, Shitty than mature Niall, bitter harry, boys deciding to be adults, but not hate there, didnt know how to fit him in, just didnt have enough write in me, late night ice cream run, oh god im bad at tags, post breakup and than reunion, sorry no Zyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 23:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7335307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuPhilycheesesteak/pseuds/DuPhilycheesesteak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Niall used to be together, but, now, on a late night all alone, Harry recalls what they were, haunted by their shared memories, and maybe by Niall in the ice cream aisle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill for galeaya, who requested a Narry story with angsty angst that was inspired by the song Memories, by One OK Rock. Hope its close to what you wanted lovely!

Harry turned the radio down, angry with the scratchy quality his recently acquired rental tended to emit. His old car was a real beaut, waxed and washed to a shine, he had always been proud to show it off, not to mention its crystal clear radio connection.

Harry's always had a penchant for showing off the things he really loves. However, his Mustang wasn't the only thing recently lost.

Its funny, how the silence of the car better matched his mood than any soppy ballad or bitchy breakup tune did. He used to love music, found comfort and familiarity within in it, loved how heavenly choral voices could be, how victorious hitting the right note could be, how uniting a perfect duet could be, especially when one had an equally invested partner. And boy, did Harry used to have the best singing partner, used to be one half of a spectacular duo.

But no. Mustn't think that way. Fuck that. Fuck self pity, never looked good on anyone. Not even He could rock such a drab wardrobe.

It had been almost seven months since Harry's love of music had faltered, faded, and eventually transformed into a constant thrum of annoyance whenever a persistent tune was heard in his immediate presence.

Almost seven months since He had been Harrys singing partner.

Harry sighed, hating how wild his thoughts always seemed to run whenever the sun went down. It’s not always a bad thing, his nocturnal energy; his craziest desires, most vivid dreams, most creative ideas, and hottest sexual adventures all belong to the night’s domain. However, so do all of his darkest thoughts, saddest realizations, most heartbreaking resignations, and loneliest sentiments. It was a constant stream of creation and discussion that leaned whichever way the proverbial coin flipped, bright, or dark. Harry had no say in the matter, he was merely the channel for the overactive voices singing in his head. Sometimes he wishes they would stop, that he could wind down rather than up during the night time, had always made sleep a tricky rabbit to catch. But, after so long, he's not sure how he would be able to take the silence of the night, the absence of activity. Maybe that was the real reason for his current aversion to music, the upset energy within his mind was enough noise for ten car radios, much less just one person’s stream of consciousness.

Tonight, it was a bitter and needy white noise that filled Harry's brain, seeping out and pooling in his hands, demanding the need for action, for movement. Which was why he was driving to the nearest Tesco at two in the morning, on a mission for ice cream, pistachios, almond milk, and any cliché romance novels he could get his hands on. His desires always went out of whack when he was tired or really emotional, had never been a good recipient of mood rings, never seemed to be able to fix on one color with him. His skin had been itching itself wild, and his eyes refused the rest of sleep, so, he had thrown on that day’s dirty clothes, nabbed his keys, and threw his hair up into a bun on the way out. He couldn't stay stationary while his mind was so active.

That, and his two roomies had been fucking louder than a pair of howler monkeys.

He uses the term 'roomies' very loosely, but there wasn't a more befitting title of brevity for, 'my-other-two-best-friends-in-the-world-who-love-me-enough-to-let-me-crash-at-theirs-while-I-lick-the-wounds-of-my-past-relationship'.

Roomies was light-years better.

Liam and Louis had been Harry's closest friends since Uni, all three having met in their first year. Harry loved them equally, and knew they loved him back, but, as for each other, it had been love at first sight. They had been connected at the hip ever since they had all exchanged names and contact info, and, after a wonderful date a few days later, had fucked each other’s brains out all night long, as per the overly-detailed PSA Harry had received the day after. Obviously the all night sex fests were still going strong.

Hanging a sharp right, Harry turned into the Tesco's parking lot, which stood nearly deserted at such a late hour, spotting less than a handful of cars parked alongside his disliked rental. His Mustang was back in the garage he had once shared with Him. At first, he could never find the time to get in, grab his car, and get out without Him being around, but, after awhile, he decided that maybe he should let things lie, leave a life passes in the past, rather than drag it along into the present.

Pulling his overtired but still wide awake body from the car, Harry mentally shooed his internal brooding monologue to the dark corner from which it had originated, hoping that the promise of sugary and salty treats could liven him up a bit.

Tesco's always shared the same smell to Harry, no matter which one he might be in, they reminded him of when he was a child, when shopping with him mum had been an adventure equal to a pirates or an astronauts. Now however, beyond that visceral sense of nostalgia, lies the stink of late night indulgencies and obligated grocery runs. He would have to work out an extra hour longer tomorrow to compensate for his impending face stuffing. A lot of things had fallen to wayside after what He did, but exercising hadn't been one. In fact, Harry had been working out more than he used since the mess He had left for both of them, a fitting way to work out his frustrations, sometimes even more cathartic than a good wank.

The bitter voiced whispered its way back to the forefront of Harry's thoughts, niggling on the sidelines like an itch that refuses to be scratched away. It spoke to him of a voicemail Harry had long ago received, but had yet to listen to, not yet having had the courage to do so. It had been burning a hole in his pocket and the fine point needlework of his mind, speaking to him in seductive tones during nights such as the one he was currently having. The days often brought too many distractions for the voicemail to be much of anything beyond an almost remembered promise, but, the night had a strong influence on Harry, and he knew that whatever was contained within that verbal message would either be Mount Olympus or The Underworld incarnate.

But no, fuck it. And Fuck Him. Fuck Him and his stupid fucking voicemail, it could burn a hole into the fabric of eternity for all Harry cares, it wasn't his burden to carry, and shame on Him for even trying to make it so. What had happened certainly hadn't been Harry's fault.

And then, unbidden, and even more unwanted than his current raincloud mood, came the screeching memory that Harry had tried so hard to crush and ignore these past few months.

 

Irony, as the world would have it, was never that funny where Harry was concerned.

 

He had been at Gemma's when he got the call, a frantic and bawling Niall on the other end, begging Harry to come home as soon as possible. He wouldn't tell Harry any details, which had only made the brunette even more concerned. The normally short drive between his sister’s home and his and Niall's apartment building was one Harry could easily walk on even a bad day, but the drive home that night had seemed endless. And it had been like Harry knew what was waiting for him on the other side of their apartment door, like he was aware of the walking chaos Niall had become. Perhaps that why the drive had seemed so long, the world was giving him time to mentally and physically prepare himself for the invariable emotional onslaught his senses were screaming was imminent. He had been given a preparatory kindness right before a cruel infraction.

The doorknob hadn't burnt his palm when he had turned it open, but, looking back, he wishes it had, so as to warn Harry as to just how heated the following conversation really was going to be. Fuck if it had given him a scar, at least it would be a physical match to the ones his heart now carried.

There had been screaming and crying and silence that ensued after Niall's confession. After his poor explanation. After his blatant unfaithfulness. And Harry’s soul had turned dark then, almost as bloody and bruised as the hickey Niall had been sporting, a mark left from another's mouth. The mouth of a drinking buddy who Niall had let give him a blowie in the loo. A drunken mistake, but a mistake all the same. Afterwards, there was the packing of clothes and the whispers of apologies drowned out in the barked tones of needed space and time. Harry had driven back to his sisters, the trip seeming mere seconds that go round, and asked if his weekend stay could be extended a week or so. Thirteen days later, as Harry had been keeping track of the exact amount of time since Niall had betrayed and broken him, Harry agreed to the idea of a civil meet up, tears exchanged over coffee and crumpets. It was a short civility. Harry hadn't been able stay within Niall's presence very long before the bile at the back of his throat became too bold to ignore, and, with food and drink untouched, told Niall that he couldn't do anything, not even this, so soon. Texts had followed over the next couple days, few and far in between, but, Harry had told Niall he needed to be away from him for a while, that they could talk sometime soon, but that, for now, Harry needed to separate himself from the one thing he had once never wanted to be apart from. It was a month after that night of nights that Harry had moved in with Liam and Louis, accepting the gracious invite to the 'L&L Inn and Heartbreak Rehab', as Louis had phrased it. A month after his extended room rental, Niall had called Harry, who had denied the ringing of his phone, and left the voicemail that was steadily turning into a carry-on black hole. It had also been the night that Harry had resolved to call Niall by anything other than his Christian name, designating his reference with capitalization.

Harry only realized he had been standing in the same spot, staring daggers at the back of a cheesy, period/love/drama novel, when his hands started to go numb from their white knuckled grip on the bound paper. He sighed again, shaking his cramped fingers back and forth, willing blood to flow its fill back into the extremities. He hadn't actually read a word of its summary, had instead been much too lost his in swirling thoughts, but tucked the book under his arm anyhow, determined that any literary escape would be better than none.

Deciding to skip the pistachios and almond milk, Harry had just resolved to get two other pints of Ben&Jerrys, believing that Chunky Monkey and Half Baked would go well with his previously known flavors, when He seemingly materialized, bleeding from Harry's overactive thoughts and out into actuality. But no, Harry is not magic, no matter how much Harry Potter may have almost convinced him in his youth, and so he could not and did not conjure Him out of thin air. But, there He was, leaning against an open freezer door, two different cartons of ice cream held aloft in both hands, indecision clear in his stance.

There were certain things Harry hadn’t kept up after the dissolution of their relationship; no rough and tumble footie matches on otherwise lazy Sundays, no beer bought in succession with the vegan soda Harry swore by, no junk food stashed behind the chia seeds and granola bars, among countless other rituals that He and Harry had accumulated as a couple.

But late night ice cream runs? Those were ingratiated into each of their bodies on a molecular level, the desire for such an adventure appearing as sprinkle colored platelets in their blood. It had been one of the few things Harry hadn’t either left behind in their apartment, or tried to totally eradicate. It had bothered him at first, the things he couldn’t seem to shake, but, he had accepted that the human body could only go through some much change without holding onto some sort of familiar constructs, footholds for its otherwise mercurial world.

Ice cream runs and cursing, the two most tangible after-images of Him. Harry had once seen cursing as empty, a void to fill the space between otherwise independent words, a bridge of sorts. Now though, he enjoyed the acidic bursts, delighting in the way they sounded when they fell or flew from his tongue.

But still Harry thought, fuck Him for changing that about himself.

And fuck Him for being here, of all places, for making the ice cream aisle the scene of their uneasy reunion.

But would it be? Harry had ducked behind the corner of the aisle he had just turned, practically wrenching his body backwards, using the bread and boxed sweets opposite the freezers as a camouflage of sorts. He hadn’t seemed to notice the commotion Harry had caused for himself, and carried on in his consternation, still undecided, as Harry could see from his tenuous viewpoint.

Should Harry go talk to him? Should he tuck tail and run the other way, hope He didn’t seem him in his retreat? Should he pretend to not care the He was there, just grab his ice cream and leave? Maybe he could pretend to be in a hurry and avoid any conversation with such excuse, after all, Harry really did want his Ben&Jerrys. Before he could further contemplate his unfortunate circumstance however, another player entered the scene, walking up to the confused blonde boy who used to be Harry’s.

“Hey there, excuse me?”, tall, dark, and stubbly stranger inquired.

“Uh, yeah?", that Irish brogue that Harry knew so well was grittier than normal, slow and harsh with the obviously late hour.

“Could I ask you something?”, came another question.

“Course yah can mate, is a free country after all.” If it had been under better circumstances, His reply would’ve been accentuated with a teasing smile, a little flame of humor sparkling in his ocean eyes.

“It’s totally forward of me, but I’ve always been the go getter type, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime? Not now obviously, a bit late, but, maybe this coming weekend, or the next even, whenever really.”

Harry couldn’t see His face, but could still somehow see that the smile that crossed His face after such an offer wasn’t a flattered one, but an upset one, a smirk of self-depreciation.

“Shit mate, I almost want to tell yah I could, could go to some pub or restaurant wi’ yah, t’aint every day yah meet someone as gutsy as yerself, but, I cant. Not right now anyway. I’m real sorry.” Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about His reply, other than being honestly curious as to why He would turn someone, anyone down. He had always been a people person, could talk to a stranger out the ass for days on end. He was the type of person to go on a date just for some face to face conversation, was always a hellish job getting him home from the pub, wanted to talk to every face he saw. Beer made him extra chatty. Harry realized was jealous and curious and angry and sad all at the same time, and he wondered if ice cream could cure such a myriad of symptoms.

“So, not a no then? Check back in some other time?”, the hopeful yet disappointed tease pulled.

“Really mate, kudos, not jus’ anyone could walk up to a stranger an ask ‘em out, but, right now, I’m….committed, just not to anyone in particular.”

“Oh, alright then. Gotta say, I’m not quite sure what kind of rejection that is.”, a smirk and a chortle followed the confession layered question.

“Right, sorry. Just, right now, I’m committed to meself, to trying and doing what’s right by me, get all that shit sorted ‘fore I try and commit to anyone else.” And still His back was to Harry, but the brunette could see the unhappy smile painted across the blondes face once more. A sight he had once bent over backwards to make sure never happened again.

“Right, well, fair enough. Don’t let me take away anymore time from Mr. Haagen Dazs there.” And with that, and an added grin, the handsome stranger backed off, presumably to give himself as much space from the bottle blonde as he could, Harry empathized with the feeling.

“Hey! Wait! Um, just a question,” the blondes outburst surprised both Harry and the dark stranger.

“Yeah?”

“Well, I just…why me? Was it a one night sorta thing or…?”

This time, Harry saw the sad smile the man displayed, but, it was the strangers, not His.

“Honestly? You look like you just pulled an all nighter after a double at work, like someone pissed in your morning coffee and then took your parking spot after your dog shit in your bed or something, but you’re still gorgeous, and that intrigued me. Never saw something so beautiful and broken at the same time.”

“Oh…quite the poetic compliment, I think.”

“Hey, just calling them like I see them. Hope the ice cream helps.”

“Helps what?”

A pregnant, knowing pause followed.

“With whatever’s the cause of that intense frown there.” Harry wondered if that cause was himself, but also wondered if he wandered around with an intense frown too. He’d have to ask Liam and Louis after they were done worshipping each other’s dicks.

By the time Harry had looked back up, the flooring having gained his attention whilst ruminating, he realized that he was alone with Him again, and the worrying sector of his brain went into overtime. But, the catalyst for his next actions was the simple albeit frightening thought of actually talking to Him, having to look into those baby blues, breathe him in, feel his warmth again, but do so while quaking on unsteady ground. Harry couldn’t do it, was ready yet.

And so, fearing that He might turn round and see him at literally any moment, Harry ran away. He backed up as quietly as he could, retreating a few aisles back until he was out of His earshot, and flew from the grocery store like the coward he knew he was, felt a yellow line of fear follow in his footsteps.

Harry ran all the way from the back of the store to its front, out the doors, and to his unwanted rental, like a criminal fleeing the scene of a crime. He fumbled with the car keys but eventually got the door open, throwing himself inside and onto the leather seating, hating the cold embrace that greeted him when he locked himself away from the outside world, from Him more than anything else.

And there, in his ugly rental, outside Tesco’s, in radio silence, with only the stars as his friendly witnesses, he cried and broke down, letting out all the noises and pains that were paralyzed within him at the sight of his ex-lover. He gasped and panted, pulling harsh breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, but really, fuck being calm. The love of his life had broken his heart, and it felt like it was happening all over again, he argued that that warranted a panic attack outside a fuckin grocery store.

He used the sleeves of his dingy coat as tissues, his fingers as human squeegees, and before he could truly think the action through, was tearing his phone from his pocket, accessing his voicemails and setting it to speaker, the automated voice much too loud in his empty vehicle.

Hearing Him speak again, seeing Him again, even if just from the back, had lit a fire within Harry that he thought he had long doused water on, a blaze that demanded more and more gasoline.

With soppy, trembling fingers, Harry held his phone and waited, desperate to hear what the irish boy had called to say all those months ago.”

_“Haz, hey. Hi. Hi Haz. Just wanted to call, maybe try talking again, but, yah obviously still need yer space. And t’at’s fine, I totally understand, I just, there are some tings I need to say, and if its gotta be over da phone than I geuss that’s how its gotta be. More den anyting, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did, and how it hurt not just you, but meself, and those round us. It was nuttin more den a moment o weakness, and t’ats the best excuse I can give yah. It’s not a good one, but it is t’e truth. I’m not gonna keep bothering yah after dis, I’ll give yah the time yah asked for, least I could do. But please, Haz, know dat I would take it back if I could, do it all over again, be better a second time, but I cant. I hurt you, and its killin me, but it’s my fault, and I take full responsibility. I still love yah, even if it don’t mean anyting anymore, nuttins ever been truer for me. I’m really, truly honestly sorry Harry, and, if you can’t forgive me, den maybe you can forget me, get yerself a good life wit someone that doesn’t hurt you none, at least, not how I did. I’m so sorry love….bye.”_

It had been an improvised monologue, almost painfully so, with long pauses and stuttering starts, but it was also honest, and real, and more than Harry had expected. He had expected a pleading drunken Niall to have called, maybe for a resolution, or maybe for one last hookup, a proper goodbye as it were. But no, Niall went and did the one thing Harry didn’t, couldn’t have expected him to do.

He grew up.

He didn’t just apologize and cry to a once lover, Niall, over the span of a shitty voicemail, had matured, had decided to stop running away from what he had done and face it head on. It had hurt him to make that phone call, as was obviously by his slightly watery tone, but, he still did, because he had known that they both needed it. It made Harry feel childish, being the witness to such a sure act, when, just moments ago, he had literally run away from his troubles, a little boy that was scared to be in the presence of such an adult figure.

But it wasn’t just tonight that had seen Harry running away. If he was being honest, Harry had been running away from Niall and their subsequent fallout ever since that night of nights. He had done it then, at their aborted meetup a week on, and just five minutes ago, and he was sick of it. He had been shown the light and was ready to step under its radiance, rather than haunt the edges of it for fear of being burned.

Niall had said that he wished he could’ve been better, and now, it was Harrys turn to try and be better for the both of them. He gathered his wits, mentally patting himself on the back, and exited his car, running back inside and to the ice cream aisle just as fast as he had going the opposite way. And, as if by some miracle, Niall was still there, no longer hold two different flavors, but, instead, just staring at the frosty glass, hand clenched around the doors long handle, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to open it. Harry understood, he was quite sure how to open up conversation between the two, how to approach such an impossible thing.

“Fuck you.” Brilliant choice Harry, really.

Niall’s head whipped around to the brunette, not just because of the statements offensive nature, but because of who its speaker had been. And there, in a cold cement building, next to encased ice, Harry felt the fire within his explode into an inferno, pushing him ever closer to total annihilation. And that was just from the stare of his former boyfriend.

“Harry? What? Why’re you…?” The blonde trailed off in evident shock.

“Niall James Horan, fuck you.” And there it was again, Harry’s choice icebreaker.

“Yeah, yah said t’at. I’m…confused. What’re yah doin here?”

“Does it matter? I’m here and so are you and really, Niall, fuck you.”

Niall’s mouth gaped open and close, fishing for words that were hooked in the back of his throat. Harry decided it was his lead to take then.

“Fuck you and your stupid blond hair and your stupid fucking accent, can’t even understand you half the time. And fuck your ugly footie shirts, always leave them lying round for me clean up, like the hampers in fucking Timbuctoo or something. And all your beer bottles and cans, can’t ever throw them the fuck away. Fuck you and all the shitty memories you gave, and all the good ones too. Fuck you for cheating on me and having the gall to make yourself look the victim. Fuck the dude who blew you and fuck you for getting drunk enough to let him. Fuck you and your insecurities, most self-deprecating bastard I’ve ever met. Just because you don’t think your worth loving doesn’t mean that you have to try and make sure you aren’t. I loved you so fucking much and you couldn’t believe that and you let that get into your own head and fuck everything up! Fuck you for hurting me and fuck you for still being lovable even after the fact.”

“I’m sorry Haz! I’ve said I’m sorry so many times, I don’t….what do yah want? I don’t understand, why are yah here right now? What’re yah sayin?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry idiot, I want to see that you’ve grown. I mean, I heard it, in that stupid shitty voicemail you sent me. I want to see you grow more and be there, wanna be by your side and grow up together. I want to love you and grow old with you and hurt you for all the times you’ll have hurt me and eat ice cream till were old and fat and tell everybody all our crazy stories and kiss till our lips are numb and fuck till we can’t see anything but each other, and we can just do that forever yeah? All the time, just you and me, right?”

Harry didn’t realize how they close they were, his tears had masked their nonexistent distance, and he assumed his feet had moved of their own accord during his rant, closing in on the one thing he needed most. His hands were fisted in Niall’s ratty t-shirt, and Niall’s hands were enclosed around his wrists, both were spotted wet with their fallen tears.

“Yeah…ok. Of course Haz, of course. Oh god, yes, course, forever, just you an me, always. Anyway I can have yah is more den enough. I’m sorry, so sorry, always will be.”

They embraced one another, heads tucked into each other’s necks, as close as they could be in their present space, “I know you are baby, I know. So am I.”

They rocked back and forth, a buoy in the angry waves that their emotions and memories were causing. They were cold and confused, unsure of exactly where to go from there, but, it didn’t matter. It was almost three in the morning, and they were in the freezer section of Tesco’s, but, they were more than content, happy to be in each other’s presence again.

And, from the floor, Harry saw the cheesy romance novel he had almost bought, lying where he had dropped and forgotten about it, a fallen causality in his earlier escape.

_Loved, Again._

It was an appropriately cliché title, but it was perfect, mirroring exactly how both boys currently felt. Harry didn’t feel the need to purchase it anymore, love stories were never like the real thing anyway. Always too dynamic and wrapped in a happy-bow-ending.

No, Harry wouldn’t buy that book. Nor any ice cream. Instead, he would end up leaving his rental in the parking lot, left to be retrieved at a later date and time, and head back to the apartment he hadn’t called home in nigh on seven months, all in the company of the boy he hadn’t called his in just as long. There, he would lick clean the tears and hurt of his lovers, who would in turn slow down his thoughts and rub his gained scars away. And instead of a fuck fest, they would make love, slow and hot and long, with salt and grime and cum and happiness between them, they’d relearn each other’s bodies, finding home within well-known spots, and greet the recently acquired ones, there’d be cursing and gasping and promising done in equal turns, an opening and joining of two wholes, come to celebrate as one. And, when they were sated and content, their cocks soft and hearts full, they would fall into sleep side by side, knowing that both hurt and forgiveness lay before them, but, it would lay before them together, as they were done with being alone. And, if they woke up late the next day, having slept in, and then driven back to Tesco to fulfill a craving not quenched the night before, then that was their business alone. Not only did they enjoy the idea of spending the rest of the day in bed as well, feeding other spoonful’s of ice cream, perhaps even licking it off one another, but they also had a soft spot for the freezer aisle there, where two hearts had ironically melted back into one another.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all (anyone) enjoyed this! Loved taking and filling a prompt, which I did to the best of my ability. If anyone has any they'd like to see me try and create for them, head on over to my Narry Requests post. Much love! Also, I love comments, discussions are always welcome and wanted.


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